


A Christmas Contract

by SCFrankles



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Christmas, Community: watsons_woes, Crack, Gen, Humor, a nod to Holmes/Hopkins & Lestrade/Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 21:08:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16920396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCFrankles/pseuds/SCFrankles
Summary: It might have been Christmas Eve but enough was enough.Mrs. Hudson evicted her tenants, tore up the tenancy agreement, changed the locks and took herself off to bed, for hopefully what was going to be the first fully undisturbed night of sleep in a very long time.The night before Christmas, Mrs. Hudson is visited by three spirits.





	A Christmas Contract

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [WAdvent](https://watsons-woes.dreamwidth.org/tag/comm+event:+wadvent) 2018, run on the [Watson's Woes](https://watsons-woes.dreamwidth.org/) comm on DW. 
> 
> Apologies to ACD and Charles Dickens.
> 
> * * *

It might have been Christmas Eve but enough was enough.

Mrs. Hudson evicted her tenants, tore up the tenancy agreement, changed the locks and took herself off to bed, for hopefully what was going to be the first fully undisturbed night of sleep in a very long time.

She wasn’t terribly pleased then to be woken on the stroke of midnight by a figure approaching her bed.

She looked up groggily. “That had better not be you, Dr. Watson.”

“Of course it isn’t Dr. Watson!” The figure adjusted its bonnet. “It is I, Mrs. Fairlie, your former employer!”

Mrs. Hudson attempted to focus. “I don’t remember you having a moustache, Mrs. Fairlie.” She frowned. “And didn’t you pass away in 1875…?”

“You can have whatever facial hair you want when you’re a ghost! And I have returned from the world beyond the veil in order to save you from making the same mistakes in life that I did.”

The figure drew closer.

“For your sake I have taken on the role of Ghost of Tenants Past, and I am the first of three spirits that will be visiting you this night. Let me take you back and show you some scenes from your girlhood. Pay attention, Mrs. Hudson! You are feeling sleepy… very sleepy…”

“You woke me up to tell me I’m feeling sleepy?” 

“Just keep your eyes on the moustache, Mrs. Hudson. You are feeling sleepy… You can hardly keep your eyes open…”

Mrs. Hudson closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she found herself standing in Mrs. Fairlie’s boarding house, where she had long ago worked as a housemaid.

The Ghost of Tenants Past gestured enthusiastically around. “Don’t you remember what a joy it was to be continually active, and to be surrounded by friendly guests?”

“Well, I remember having to get up at the crack of dawn, and going to bed after everybody else had fallen asleep.” 

Mrs. Hudson turned her head as someone caught her eye. 

“And I remember Mr. Mabbitt and his wandering hands.” 

She narrowed her eyes. 

“Actually, while I’ve got the opportunity…”

She hurried over to a ‘gentleman’ who was standing a little too close to the youthful version of herself, punched him smartly on the nose and returned to the Ghost.

“There! That’s better. Do continue stating your case.”

“Yes…” 

The Ghost looked worriedly in the direction of the startled Mabbitt and his bleeding nose, and then back at Mrs. Hudson. 

“Well, now. One day I tired of this life and I turned out all of my lodgers with no notice. Neighbours were bewildered by this eccentric behaviour and began to talk behind my back! Friends turned away from me! And this too will be your fate if you don’t allow your tenants to return!”

Mrs. Hudson wrinkled her nose. “That’s it? It doesn’t seem much of an argument.”

“Well, perhaps your next visitor will be able to change your mind.” The Ghost of Tenants Past widened its eyes. “Once again you are feeling sleepy, Mrs. Hudson. And when I click my fingers you will be visited by the second spirit…”

“What on earth are you talking abou—”

All of a sudden Mrs. Hudson found herself back in her bed. She opened her eyes and there was a figure staring back at her—wearing white robes that oddly brought to mind her best sheets.

She struggled to sit up. “Who are you?”

“I am the Ghost of Tenants Present,” said the figure.

Mrs. Hudson raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got the same moustache as the Ghost of Tenants Past.”

“Well, she started a trend!” The Ghost of Tenants Present harrumphed a little. “Now I’m going to show you some scenes from your recent life so that you will repent of throwing out your tenants and take them back.”

Mrs. Hudson sighed. “Fine. So it’s ‘focus on moustache, feeling sleepy.’ Got it.”

Everything went somewhat blurred and when she came back to herself, she was standing in the hallway.

“Don’t you recall the joyous sound of children in the house…?”

A horde of Irregulars stampeded down the hall towards the stairs, screaming and yelling.

“And the happy bustle of constant visitors…?”

Mrs. Hudson watched herself opening the door in the middle of night to Inspector Lestrade. She sighed. She never got to open the door for the pretty one. Hopkins, wasn’t it? Mr. Holmes usually charged down to do it himself.

“And what about your own part in the cases?” The Ghost smiled. “Remember the excitement when you thought Sherlock Holmes was dying for three days? And when you thought he was actually dead for three years? And what about when he had you shuffling on your knees across the sitting room floor to manipulate his wax bust, while a sociopathic sniper kept his airgun trained on the window!” 

“Er…” said Mrs. Hudson.

“And of course there is the matter of remuneration…”

The scene changed to Mrs. Hudson’s local bank. The bank clerks rose as one and gathered cheerfully around her, raising her high and carrying her around the room.

The Ghost looked on. “Mr. Holmes has always been greatly generous with his rent, has he not? You have saved no little sum I would imagine.”

“This is true.” She glanced down at the clerks. “But I don’t recall the bank’s employees ever actually carrying me on their shoulders over it.” She tilted her head to one side. “Admittedly though they do tend to break into spontaneous applause every time I go into the branch.”

“And would you willingly give all of that up…?” The Ghost shook its head sadly. 

The bank blurred and Mrs. Hudson found herself sitting up in bed once more. 

“But let me pass you over to the last Ghost, who will delve into the darkest matters of all. I am talking of— The Ghost of a Tenantless Future!”

The Ghost of Tenants Present retreated and another ghost stepped forward. Slender. About six foot. Wearing dark robes with a pattern that reminded her irresistibly of the curtains in the uppermost lumber room.

The Ghost spoke. “Listen, Mrs. Hudson! What do you hear?”

Mrs. Hudson listened intently. “Um. Nothing?”

“Exactly,” intoned the Ghost. “And this is what your life will be like from here on, if you don’t repent and allow your tenants back! You will be forever alone, in a totally silent house. Is this what you truly want? Well...? Well...?”

There was a very long pause. 

“Er,” said the Ghost. “Well?”

“Don’t rush me,” said Mrs. Hudson. “I’m thinking.”

She twisted her body and plumped up the pillow a little. She lay down. 

“You know… it’s been quite a night. Perhaps I’ll sleep on it.”

The Ghost hesitated. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

It began drifting towards the door. It opened it and paused. 

“Good night then, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Good night, Ghost of a Tenantless Future,” said Mrs. Hudson sleepily. She closed her eyes.

The Ghost passed out of her room and closed the door behind him, joining the Ghost of Tenants Present on the landing.

“Well?” asked the Ghost of Tenants Present anxiously.

The Ghost of a Tenantless Future shrugged. “She said she’d sleep on it. But I’m not holding out much hope to be honest.”

The Ghost of Tenants Present groaned. “You swore this would work, Holmes!”

“I might have been a little over-optimistic…” 

The Ghost of a Tenantless Future hitched up his robes and led the way towards the stairs. 

“Look, I’ve been thinking. Perhaps it would best to cut our losses and move away entirely. Sussex maybe? A little cottage where I can study bees and you can write that novel you’re always banging on about?”

The two of them descended. When they reached the hallway, the Ghost of a Tenantless Future stopped and looked about.

“I would be sorry to leave though. We made history here in 221B, Baker Street… The world’s first consulting detective and his faithful Boswell. Admired for our abilities! Our honour!”

He struck a dramatic pose. 

_“Our gravitas!”_

“Well said, old chap.” The Ghost of Tenants Present patted him on the arm. “Now hitch up your curtains again. We really ought to go and climb back out of the kitchen window.”

And so the spirits disappeared off down the hallway together, their voices fading as they went.

“Are you sure Lestrade won’t mind my staying too, Watson?”

“He said that he would be delighted, dear fellow!”

“Well then… Merry Christmas, Watson.”

“Merry Christmas, Holmes.”


End file.
